


The Strokes On Your Skin

by FrozenSnares



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Firsts, Soulmate AU, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, small swearing, small trigger for a minor reference to self-harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-04-21 07:35:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4820744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrozenSnares/pseuds/FrozenSnares
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soulmate AU: Where the name of your soulmate appears on your skin in their handwriting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Picset](http://frozensnares.tumblr.com/post/130089525156/the-strokes-on-your-skin-soulmate-au-where-the)

The knot of writing had been there for years. Honestly, it was getting to the point where Shireen almost thought that she had gotten drunk and got a random tattoo one night. She doesn’t remember how it got there or when it appeared, but in her mind it only exists when she needs comfort. That’s all that it is to her now: comfort. 

Back in the day when most people her age were gushing about soulmates and the possibility of meeting someone with _that name_ Shireen had needed this comfort, despite how little it provided. It proved that she had a soulmate. It doesn’t prove reciprocation. And it certainly doesn’t give a name. She’s spent a good amount of time trying to decipher the chicken scratch on the inside of her left wrist for far too long, and she realizes that her soulmate is either completely blind or has the worst penmanship in the world. 

By the time she gets to university, she just starts pretending that it doesn’t exist. Statistically, she knows that she should have met her soulmate by now. After all, she’s read all the research on it and done plenty herself, and facts are facts. Besides, soulmate or not, there’s no way anyone was going to look at her and actually think she was worth spending time on. No, she figured that if she had a soulmate, there was no way it was reciprocated. Whoever it was had probably already found their soulmate and was happily living their life. And she was going to have to deal with it.

Bracelets have served her greatly here. They hide the marks on her wrist and make it so that people don’t ask too many questions. Somehow, the soulmate tattoos are usually hidden, or at least, somewhere where they can be covered. Most don’t bother trying, hoping it will speed up their meeting, but Shireen isn’t about to set herself up for disappointment.

Shifting the bracelets around, Shireen peeks down at the scribbles on her wrist again. It really _could_ be anything… The first letter alone could be a B, D, E, K, P, or R. She still can’t even determine where one letter ends and the next begins. Tracing it doesn’t help either. She spent a good year of her life trying that, moving the tip of a pen over the mess of lines hoping that it would help her find meaning in it. Unfortunately, she never has any luck. 

Burying the thought, Shireen looks up at the lecture she’s supposed to be paying attention to, it’s dreadfully boring. Her notes are still perfect, though the professor has been answering questions about their projects for the last fifteen minutes. She doesn’t understand why some of her classmates are so thick. Their professor already explained how to do the math for their project twenty times. Now, she’s just waiting for a chance to meet up with her project partner and figure out how much more they need to do.

“So we’re looking at a good amount of data left to collect,” Bran tells her. Shireen is eternally thankful that Bran Stark is her project partner. He actually does work, and he’s already found his own soulmate, which makes him much more tolerable. Not to mention that he asked her to be partners, which made it so she didn’t get stuck with someone who never wanted to look at her. “We need a lot more lefties, though. Have you been keeping an eye out during your petitioning stuff?”

“You’d be surprised at the lack of lefties on campus,” Shireen tells him. She flicks through her backpack, pulling out her clipboard of signatures for her petition. “But I’m on duty today, so I’ll keep an eye out.”

“And I’ll hit the northern quad,” Bran says. He spreads out his notes and checks off a few steps for their project. Shireen leans over her desk, making sure they’re at the same point. “With any luck, we should be able to start data analysis this weekend.”

“Sounds great.” Shireen glances up as the shuffling around the classroom gets louder. Then, she pulls out her phone to check the time. “End of class. Want me to help you outside?”

Bran’s been wheelchair-bound for as long as she’s known him, and she can’t help but feel like he knows how to avoid sensitive topics better than most people do. Still, he’s usually smiling, and people mentioning the wheelchair doesn’t bother him at all. Shireen assumes this is why he’s never asked about her soulmate. She watches as he packs up his bag, flinging it over his shoulder to hook it onto his chair.

“I’ve got it,” he says, pulling at the wheels to wedge his way out of the table. She lingers until he’s completely free, walking at his side until they’re in the quad where he’s staying to ask for participants for their assignment. Giving him a wave, she heads off to her own station for the day.

It’s a warm day, though it isn’t overly hot. Shireen still takes the time to select a nice tree to stand under before waiting around for the flood of students that will come in about thirty minutes. A few people pass her and she tries to catch their attention. Most turn away after seeing her scars, and she resists swearing at them for being so shallow. A few stay, though, listening to her spiel about limiting the resources the campus is wasting, and she even manages to get a few signatures before the rush of students.

Once they come, Shireen is bouncing on her feet, asking everyone she can to help the cause at no cost to them. She’s happy to have such a proactive campus, and occasionally, people call their friends over to sign as well. It’s great to think that she has actually managed to spearhead some sort of movement on her own. As her shift ends, she waits for a large group to finish passing the clipboard around. She’s been peering over shoulders the entire time, not managing to locate a single lefty for her other project.

Someone taps her on the shoulder, and she turns immediately to see who it is. There’s a pretty blonde girl standing at her shoulder and she recoils slightly at seeing Shireen’s face. However, she steels herself and takes a deep breath in. “You’re Shireen, right?” she asks.

“I am,” Shireen says, trying to give her a smile.

The blonde girl doesn’t bother to smile, nor does she introduce herself, which annoys Shireen. “Well, my club is working on a similar petition, and I was wondering if we could have a copy of your terms. Maybe we can join causes.”

The clipboard is unceremoniously shoved back at Shireen, and she takes it back, already flipping through to find the extra copies she keeps in the back. “Here you go,” she says, handing the paper over. “My contact information is on there, too, so you can let me know if it sounds like something that’ll work out for us.”

“Uh huh. Thanks,” the blonde says flatly, walking away without bothering to say goodbye.

Shireen watches her go for a minute, shaking her head slightly. The whole experience with the girl wasn’t a very positive one, but she can’t help but feel like it’s just a waste of paper. Shireen shrugs it off, thinking that if anything, it was just one paper gone and it was free to print. Sighing, Shireen walks back to her things, flicking through the few pages of signatures she’d gotten today. A few will have to be trashed because the students didn’t give all the required information. Still, it’s a decent number of signatures and she’s proud of herself. She flicks through the last two pages quickly, ready to pack up and head home when a familiar scrawl catches her eye.

She flicks back to it quickly, her eye moving to it as if it were a magnet. There was no way that she’d ever forget the way those letters were all scrunched up together and completely illegible. Before she can even think through it, she seeks out the relevant information for the person. This time, she doesn’t stifle the swear. Of course. _Of course_ her soulmate was one of the few signatures that needed to be trashed. Why would she expect anything more from someone with completely illegible handwriting?

Tracing over the writing on the page, Shireen is surprised to find how similar it is to the marks that magically appeared on her wrist. She sits down right next to her backpack and places the clipboard on her knees. Carefully, she wiggles away the bracelets and compares them. Rather unfortunately, they’re identical. She was hoping for some kind of nuance of difference to better decipher whatever name was written on her wrist. There are a few minutes where Shireen just stares down at the paper, still running her fingers over the name.

Her soulmate existed. She had likely met them. And she had no idea who it was. How was it even possible to be so close to your soulmate without knowing they were there? If they already had this connection, shouldn’t there be something there? With a deep sigh, Shireen reminds herself that it’s quite common to have unreciprocated or one-sided soulmates. This doesn’t prove anything except that the person meant for her exists. It doesn’t mean that they have a mark that complements hers. It doesn’t even mean that she’s ever going to meet them.

Letting out a small groan of frustration, she shoves the clipboard into her backpack and heads for the dorms. She pushes the thought from her mind, instead focusing on the mountain of homework that waits for her in the dorms. She has reading to do, and an essay to start, dinner to get, and emails to respond to. And if she has time, she might just try to figure out what is written on her wrist.

Once Shireen is preparing her bed, she realizes that she completely wasted her afternoon. There are several sheets of paper in front of her with various reiterations and inflections of the writing on her wrist. She spent a full hour just staring at the paper, trying to see if she could figure out how much pressure was put behind each line. She’s at as much of a loss now as she was before, and she’s considering reading through the entire student directory to try and figure out who the name belongs to.

After thinking that she’s wasted far too much time thinking about a person who may or may not end up as part of her life, Shireen marches across the room and turns the lights on. She needs to get something done today. First, she throws all the now-useless papers into the recycling. Then, she opens up her textbook and sets herself to reading. Reading, she can do. Reading is easy. Reading will definitely distract her from any thoughts regarding her soulmate.

It turns out that even reading cannot stop Shireen Baratheon from glancing at her wrist every ten seconds in the hopes that she’ll be able to read _that_. Frustrated, Shireen storms around her room, pulls off all her bracelets and locates the largest band aid she has, sticking it right over those annoying marks. Then, she pulls on her largest sweater in spite of the heat and sits down so she can make it through at least one reading before she goes to sleep.

The next day, Shireen is in no better mood. She’s frustrated that she doesn’t know who her soulmate is when they had been close enough to touch yesterday. Nothing makes this easier to cope with: not her reassurances that it’s not reciprocated, not the idea that they might be a complete idiot, nor the thought that she isn’t sure if she wants to start dating whoever it turns out to be right now anyway. She has stuff to do. She has classes to attend. She has a degree to earn. And that needs to be her focus. Besides, did she even want to get thrown in to a seemingly-forced relationship?

Her petition also finds itself tossed aside for the time being. In her attempts to be productive while trying to figure out who her soulmate is, Shireen calculated that she only needed fifteen more signatures before submitting her petition for formal review. Unfortunately, she can’t manage looking through the list before getting distracted with the knowledge that her soulmate’s name is on it and _she can’t read it_.

Shireen purposefully ignores her petition, and any further thoughts of her soulmate, for the rest of the week, placing them far from her mind. At this point, she wants something— _anything_ —that will distract her enough from this anticipation that has ignited in her stomach.

Luckily, her distraction comes when Bran Stark rolls into her class on Thursday, and he promptly crashes into the table where he usually sits. Shireen stands immediately, going around to help him into his spot. She’s seen him roll himself into place a thousand times, and it isn’t hard for her to manage. He doesn’t even wave her off. “We’ve got a sample!” he announces. “So we can start data analysis this weekend.”

“That’s great!” Shireen says, thinking that if she’s hanging out with someone else, she’ll be forced to focus on the task at hand.

They get ready for class together, and Shireen is pleasantly distracted from her previous thoughts until Bran taps at her shoulder. “Hey, um, is everything alright, Shireen?” he asks.

Shireen is puzzled. While she always suspected that Bran was incredibly perceptive, she didn’t think that she was acting oddly enough for him to notice that something was bothering her. She opens her mouth to respond, but she doesn’t know where to start. No noise comes out and Bran clears his throat gently.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he says. His voice is soft, and Shireen wonders what she’s doing that warrants giving her the same treatment as a live bomb. “There are counselors here, you know. They’re really great, and you don’t have to… you know…” He gestures weakly to her wrist.

“Oh, this?” Shireen asks, mildly relieved that Bran didn’t notice her state of panic. She quickly peels off the band aid, but covers up her wrist with her other hand. “No, I haven’t done anything. It’s just—it’s my soulmate’s name, and it was distracting me.”

“Haven’t met them yet?” Bran asks. He suddenly looks calmer, kinder. He’s still keeping his voice even.

Shireen sighs, slumping in her seat. She moves her hand slightly to rub her fingers over her wrist. “I can’t even read it,” she admits. “It’s completely illegible, and I—I really don’t like having it taunt me.”

Bran _ah_ s, and Shireen gives him a small grimace. She tucks her hand against her stomach and away from everyone’s vision, hoping that she has something in her backpack that will cover it up later. For now, she keeps her hand down and takes her notes as usual. To his credit, Bran doesn’t question her further. He simply acts as if the exchange never happened and treats her normally. The companionship they share is nice, and Shireen enjoys his company. He turns to her as the class is ending, and she hopes it’s news of their project.

“So, should I just do data analysis and report back, or do you want to do it together?” he asks.

“Together, I think,” Shireen says. “Just in case one of us can’t read the penmanship.”

“Good call,” Bran says. She notices his eyes flick down toward her wrist, but he doesn’t say anything. Shireen covers it with her hand anyway. “So I can’t do tomorrow because Jojen and I are—Oh! Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” Shireen says quickly. She understands the reaction, knows that most people are overly-sensitive about not knowing their soulmate, usually in cases where they have common names. “Um, how about Saturday?”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Bran says. He looks around. “Um, I’ll call you about arranging a place. My brother’s waiting for me, and I don’t want to keep him waiting.”

Shireen nods. “Of course. Do you want help getting out?”

“Yes, please,” Bran replies. He keeps his hands down, and Shireen gets behind him to push him out the door and into the hallway. She keeps on to the handicap exit, making sure that Bran safely leaves the building. When they exit, a boy leaning against a lamppost kicks off of it and walks over.

Shireen knows that this is his brother. They have the same auburn hair, though Bran’s is significantly longer. They definitely look like brothers, though, so Shireen releases Bran and he wheels himself closer.

“Ready to go?” his brother asks, hopping up behind the wheelchair.

Bran turns around with a rushed, “I’ll call you later!” Then, his brother puts on his backpack before grabbing the wheelchair and running with it, taking a few leaps so they can move faster.

While Shireen had been planning on offering help getting him into a car, he looks like he’s in good hands, so she just turns to head back to her dorm. As she walks, she notices that she swings her hands a lot more, free as they are from the weight of her bracelets. It feels nice, and Shireen wishes she could stop wearing them. However, she knows the distraction she gets from seeing that illegible name isn’t worth it, so she pulls on the bracelets as soon as she gets back to her room, determined to catch up on all her work that night.

Bran ends up calling her Friday afternoon. “Bad news,” he says. He sounds a little timid, but Shireen just waits for him to go on. “My chair broke, and I’m stuck at home until we can get it fixed,” he tells her.

“That’s fine,” Shireen says. “It happens.”

“I can make my brother carry me over to the library for the session,” Bran suggests. “He’ll probably do it, too…”

“How about I go over to your place? Assuming you don’t mind, of course,” she tacks on quickly.

Bran’s laughter comes from the other end of the phone. “No, that’d be fine. I can even have someone pick you up, if you’d like,” he offers.

“I can walk, you know,” Shireen says, earning a hearty laugh from him. Honestly, she really needs this excuse to keep herself preoccupied. “Seriously, it’s no big deal. There’s even a bus that goes that way.”

“Alright, then,” Bran says. “But if your working legs get tired or something, just call me and I’ll make my mom go get you.”

“I’ll be fine, Bran,” Shireen replies. “Walking isn’t exactly dangerous.”

“Easy for you to say.”

Bus rides turn out to be oddly pleasant for Shireen. She’s used them a few times despite her father’s warning against public transportation, and she finds the humdrum of other people’s lives comforting. Most of the other occupants shy away from her, and she ends up with a row of seats to herself. She contents herself with people-watching, seeing a few signs of soulmates. The most obvious is a young couple holding hands that having each other’s names written on their hands. Shireen can’t help watching, but they shoot furtive glares at her that make her look away, rearranging her bracelets to make sure that her own mark is covered.

She flees from the bus quickly, seeking out the path to Bran’s house. It’s a nice walk and a nice day out, so Shireen enjoys it. She hums to herself as she goes, and she can’t help thinking that she should take more walks, as they are plenty distracting. As a testament to her abilities to plan, Shireen reaches Bran’s house at exactly two o’clock, ringing the doorbell and trying to stand casually. A woman she assumes is his mother opens the door.

“You must be Shireen,” she says warmly. “Please, come in. Would you like some water?”

“Oh, yes, please,” Shireen says. Judging by his mother’s response, Shireen assumes that Bran already warned his family about her scars. Still, she follows her into the house, thinking that it belongs in a home and garden magazine, given its decorations. She retrieves the water, and then follows her into a sitting room where Bran is waiting, sitting on a rolling desk chair.

“My name’s Catelyn,” his mother says. “Just call if you need anything.”

“Thank you!” Shireen says. She walks around to the couch, sitting down neatly and looking at Bran. “You didn’t want to sit on the couch?”

Bran shrugs. “I like my mobility,” he says, flicking through the papers. He separates them into two and hands Shireen a stack. “But would you believe that my wheelchair is more comfortable than this chair?”

Shireen laughs, taking the papers. “I assume they’re meant for much more extended use,” she says. 

They share a laugh before reminding each other of what data they need to collect and getting to work. A few times, Bran asks Shireen to get things for him, which she does without question, listening her way through the house and playing long games of “You’re getting warmer” before she finds the objects. He also asks for snacks, and she pushes him halfway into the kitchen. He laughs at her while she walks slowly through the kitchen, and she nearly pushes him out before his brother wanders in. Shireen sobers quickly, but Bran just starts yelling at his brother to fetch snacks for them instead. His brother complies, but almost with as many sharp retorts as she had made.

He stretches up to reach a box of crackers from a high cabinet, and Shireen marvels at how tall he is, given how hunched over he was when she last saw him.

“Did you get a plate?” he asks her.

Shireen was slightly spaced out and she shook herself to hear the question. “Um, no, I—”

She turns to the cabinets behind her, wondering which she should open to get a plate, but before she can act, he reaches over her shoulder and does it on his own. Shireen can feel him pressed up against her back, and she tries not to think about how intimate and domestic this is. Instead, she waits for him to move and scurries off quick as she can to hide in another corner of the kitchen.

After being thoroughly distracted by snacks, Shireen runs back into the sitting room while Bran gets rolled in by his brother. They manage to get a lot of work done before Bran sits back in his seat with a satisfied sigh.

“72 right-handed analyses, and 28 lefties,” he announces.

“Uh oh, I have… 28 right-handed analyses, but only 71 lefties,” she says.

“Dammit. I can’t count,” Bran says. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s not your fault,” Shireen says. “I probably can’t have counted any better, but if we want to get the rest of this done, we need a lefty.”

Bran raises his eyebrows and suddenly looks very excited. “My brother’s left-handed!” he shouts. Without warning, he continues, “HEY, RICKON. GET DOWN HERE.”

They sit quietly for a while, and Shireen strains her ears for the sound of approaching footsteps. They come, but pause a distance from the room. Some muttering voices reach her before the footsteps continue.

“What do you want?” he asks. Shireen turns to look over at the younger Stark brother.

“Your autograph,” Bran says shortly. “Just fill out this paper real fast.”

Rickon groans, but slouches halfway over the couch to complete the task, and Shireen starts re-organizing the papers in front of her to start peeling references from. There’s a small grumble from his brother and a quick _thanks_ from Bran. Shireen turns to offer her own, but he’s already gone. Bran’s scribbling through his notes quickly, looking over his brother’s writing as if from memory. With heavy footfalls, his brother enters the room again.

“Mom wants to know if your friend is staying for dinner,” Rickon says, very pointedly looking at Bran.

Shireen turns down to her papers, trying to hide. Bran clears his throat loudly and says, “You can talk to her, you know… Hey, Sh—”

“Do you want dinner?” his brother says loudly, this time leaning over to look at her. Shireen turns slowly toward him, ready to mutter out an acceptance. He looks taken aback, though. Shireen belatedly realizes that he has yet to see her face, and he speaks to it directly. “What happened to your face?”

“Rickon!” Bran shouts. “Would you shut it? Just tell Mom yes and get out of here!” 

Bran feebly attempts to shove his brother from the room. The effort is poor, given Bran’s inability to move, but his brother leaves anyway. Muttering out an apology, Bran hands over the last paper to Shireen. “Sorry,” he says. “I know his writing too well, and I can’t…”

“It’s no problem,” Shireen says, taking the paper. She gives Bran a warm smile, hoping that he understands that she doesn’t take offense. Shifting her attention to the paper, her heart stops. Staring back at her is the same messy scrawl that she’s seen every day of her life for what seems like forever. She recognizes it, and she can’t help but feel stunned. Shaking the feeling, Shireen pulls the paper and her notebook closer to her, hiding somewhat to match the scribble to the one of her wrist. “Um, what’s your brother’s name again?”

“Rickon. R-I-C-K-O-N,” Bran says quickly, not noticing her strange reaction.

“Rickon,” Shireen repeats, writing it down on an empty page in her notebook. She writes it a few more times, increasing the sloppiness with which she writes until she has a scrawl nearly identical to the one on her wrist. Her heart is working in overtime now, and she feels like a truck has just run her through. Sucking in a breath, Shireen tries to maintain her composure, getting through the assignment. She’s insanely aware of her analysis of his writing, and she’s absently re-writing his name in the margin of her paper as she does so. Tossing her notebook aside, she pulls her laptop closer, typing out the information that’s actually relevant for their assignment.

She quickly hands the paper back to Bran, refusing to look at it any longer. Still, her ability to focus is at an all-time low, and she feels the new assault of information bearing on her. She pulls back her notebook, writing through everything wrong with this. Surely, when Bran told his family she was coming, he mentioned her name. And if Rickon knew her name and didn’t care, then she probably wasn’t his soulmate. After all, her penmanship was legible. She sighs. So it turns out she did have a soulmate, and he just didn’t have her name on him.

It didn’t matter. She firmly forced herself to think about Rickon and what she knew of him. He was nice enough to his brother, picking him up from school, and helping him out sometimes. His reaction to her face wasn’t exactly comforting, though. She had always dreamed that when she found her soulmate, they wouldn’t care what she looked like. Now, she is forced to live with the fact that her soulmate was not attracted to her at all. Sucking in a breath, Shireen pulls her attention back to her work. Her hands are shaking as she tries to type into the document.

“Hey, are you okay?” Bran asks. He has obviously noticed her many typos in their shared GoogleDoc.

“Yeah, I'm fine,” Shireen says quickly. She silently reminds herself not to touch her wrist. “I’m just going to… the bathroom.”

Bran frowns at her. “It’s just down the hall.”

“Thanks,” Shireen says, tossing her stuff aside and bolting from the room. She finds the bathroom without difficulty and runs the water, just in case she makes any involuntary sounds. Sure enough, they come. A few slow sobs nearly choke her when she tries to stifle them, and she lets herself cry. It’s over now. Her great mystery is solved and it _sucks_. There was no way she was going to find her way around this. If her soulmate wasn’t going to even bother with her, then she didn’t need to spend time thinking about him, either.

Shireen briefly considers leaving before dinner, unsure whether she’d be able to survive sitting at a dinner table with her soulmate when he was a million miles away from her. Her childhood manners kick in, though, and she can’t leave, especially since she considers Bran a friend, regardless of whether his brother would be in her life. Calming herself, Shireen splashes some water on her face, hoping that her face won’t be swollen from crying. Bouncing around the room, Shireen runs the water cold, letting that cool her face even though it drips slightly onto her shirt. Drying off the best she can, Shireen leaves the bathroom with a determined confidence that shatters when she crashes into Rickon in the hall.

“Whoa,” he reaches out to steady her by the arms. She recoils, though, and he ends up grabbing her wrist. Somehow, his finger manages to get between her bracelets and onto his name. Shireen can feel her skin burning there, and though she’s sure it’s just in her mind, she can’t help but feel a stinging sensation in her chest. “Hey, I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay,” she says quickly just for the sake of saying something and ending this encounter. She’ll take any out she can get right now, and she’s grasping at ends to leave sooner.

He seems to be able to feel how tense she is, so he lets go. Shireen quickly hurries back to the sitting room, digging herself in schoolwork again. Focusing completely on the task at hand, she manages to get through a solid six pages of writing with Bran reviewing her work. When dinner time nears, they slowly put away their things, and Shireen feels that she’s getting jumpier the closer she is to Rickon.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Bran asks.

“I’m completely fine,” Shireen lies. “Nothing to worry about, really.”

Bran doesn’t look like he believes her, but he doesn’t press the issue. They clean up and Shireen goes so far as to pack for the trip back to school. Then, they head to the dinner table, Shireen pushing Bran down the hall and next to the dining table. Shireen offers to help Catelyn around the kitchen. Catelyn declines her offer and tells her to sit down, which she does, but then Rickon is serving her and she feels like she’s being torn apart from the inside. Shireen tries to focus on the food, and she feels herself going on autopilot just like she used to at her aunt’s house. She compliments the food, eats with tiny bites, and makes small talk about how school is going and her plans for the future.

She avoids looking at Rickon at all costs, and almost doesn’t notice that their father is eating with them. Still, she keeps mostly to herself unless asked otherwise, even though Bran and Rickon are loud and bounce off each other as they chatter to their parents and ask for permission to do various things. Rickon’s asking about going to a concert in a few weeks, and Shireen can’t help but hope he mentions the band because she hopes her soulmate at least has decent taste in music. His parents tell him to ask later, though, so she lets that feeling sink as well. It takes her longer than she’d like to realize that none of it matters anyway.

The meal is very near finished when Rickon leans over to Bran and hisses something in his ear. Bran replies just as silently, and Shireen looks away, shoving more food in her mouth. There’s a loud sound as a chair is pushed back forcibly, and when Shireen looks up, Rickon is rushing out of the room. He doesn’t return until they’re cleaning up, and Catelyn orders him to finish eating. Shireen helps her clean the kitchen, watching as Rickon stares down at his plate the entire time. He walks his plate to the sink when he finishes, and Catelyn dismisses him. Rickon edges out of the kitchen slowly, sneaking glances her way.

Shireen just assumed that Bran must have somehow seen her wrist and told Rickon about it. Now, he’s probably embarrassed about her being here, but she refuses to feel bad for taking up space. She finishes up in the kitchen and fetches her belongings, ready to run from the house and maybe never leave her dorm room again. Just before she leaves, Bran asks her to wait because he has something for her. She idles by the doorway, thankful that Rickon has at least disappeared for the night.

Unfortunately, she seems to have summoned him there because he’s sheepishly moving into the area. His hands are shoved into his pockets, and he’s not quite meeting her gaze, though he’s glancing up at her. Instead of sitting through whatever uncomfortable mess this is, Shireen stands up straight and says, “Your penmanship sucks.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles. “I know you had to stare at it for your project, and you’ll probably have to see it again…”

“Yeah, for the rest of my life…” Shireen mutters, hoping he won’t hear her.

He looks up sharply, and she’s struck by how intense his eyes are. Shireen thought she’d be okay with it after knowing Bran, but they seem to be even brighter than Bran’s are. He blinks at her a few times. “Where is it?” he breathes out.

Shireen figures that there’s no use in hiding anything anymore, so she lets out a heavy breath and shakes back her bracelets. “On my wrist,” she says, holding up her hand. “But I guess no one will know that’s it’s supposed to be a name…”

“Oh…” Rickon mumbles. He stares down at the floor before. “I know it’s not as neat as yours…”

Furrowing her brow, Shireen tries to think through when Rickon’s ever seen her handwriting. She assumes that he must have caught a glimpse in her notebook when he was participating in their project. She just lets out a noncommittal sound before turning to face the door.

Rickon lets out a heavy sigh. “At least now, I won’t have to try to cover it with a tattoo.”

Her heart drops into her stomach. Shireen is completely still, though her eyes go wide. Air has just discovered that it’s impossible to get into her lungs, and she thinks she might actually faint. Desperately trying to do _something_ , Shireen forces herself to look back at him.

“It’s a pretty name… _Shireen_ …” Rickon has a hopeful smile on his face.

“I—where?” Shireen breathes out. She feels like she’s just been punched in the gut because never has she imagined that this would happen.

Giving her a wider smile, Rickon turns. He bends at his knees slightly, aware that he’s taller than her, and roughly grabs the collar of his shirt and pulls it to the side. There, just behind his right shoulder, is her name in neat, even letters that she was so proud of learning how to write lo those many years ago. Without meaning to, she reaches out to trace the letters with her fingers, finding a new kind of sensation flaring through her system. Her hand falls gently, and Rickon fixes his shirt before facing her again.

He looks around, apparently lost for words. Then, he bites his lip, and Shireen can’t help but find it charming. Rickon meets her gaze again and grins. “So I guess we’re going to get married, right?”

A bubble of laughter escapes Shireen, and she shakes her head. The truth of the matter is that her heart is about to beat out of her chest at this news, and she’s thrilled to have finally found her soulmate. Everything is better than she ever thought, but her brain can’t grapple with the idea of marriage right now. Besides, he’s probably just ignoring her scars because they’re supposed to be soulmates, and she cannot let that trump her pride.

“Can I kiss you, then?” he asks. “I mean… it might help…”

Looking away from the pleading expression on his face, Shireen just shakes her head again. Sure, she might be willing to give it a shot, but not when she’s just had her life flipped upside down. She’s spent years convincing herself that she would be happy alone, now it’s hard to think she doesn’t have to. She’s saved from explaining herself when Bran rolls into the room again.

“Here,” he says. “Sorry it took so long. I’m not that great at reaching high up things. It’s late now, though… Um, I’ll ask my mom to drive you home.”

“I’ll do it,” Rickon offers. He gives his brother a shrug. “I’m not busy.”

“Oh no, it’s okay,” Shireen says. She takes a step to the door. “It’s not too bad. I can just take the next bus.”

Bran furrows his brow at her, and Rickon looks a little confused. She says goodbye quickly and leaves the house, making sure to shut the door behind her. It is much darker than she thought it would be, but she grits her teeth and pulls her sweater around herself. She doesn’t get very far before she hears a door open behind her. Panicking, she starts walking faster until someone calls, “Wait!”

Though, she has every intention to keep going, Shireen stops, but she doesn’t turn around. Rickon catches up to her and moves directly in front of her. He’s holding car keys loosely in his hand, and a jacket has been thrown over his shoulders.

“I get that you might hate me for being a douche earlier, but I can’t just let you walk around in the darkness,” Rickon says quickly.

“It’s n-not even that d-d-dark,” Shireen stammers, her jaw working of its own accord in the cold night.

“Oh, you’re cold,” Rickon says. Shireen thinks he’s talking to himself because it seems obvious to her, but he shrugs out of his jacket and puts it over her shoulders. He furrows up his face, trying to close the jacket over her backpack.

There’s a strange urge for her to push it off, but the scent of it hits her and it is far more appealing than she ever thought. She’s lost in how she even managed to identify a scent from a jacket. Rickon uses that time to steer her toward a car. The car isn’t any warmer than it is outside, so Shireen takes off her backpack and slides her arms into the jacket. Rickon grins at her from the driver’s side, and he turns on the car and starts driving straight back to school.

Complete silence accompanies them on the way. Shireen can see Rickon’s jaw jumping, and she knows he’s keeping himself quiet. She appreciates the effort, but it feels oddly comfortable in spite of his eagerness. He slows to a stop outside her dorm and finally looks over at her. Shireen makes to get out of the car, but she remembers the jacket and starts shrugging out of it.

“Keep it,” Rickon says quickly. “I know you still have a walk to go…”

Shireen gives him a weak smile. “Thanks,” she says. “Maybe we can… actually try sometime.”

“We could try _now_ ,” Rickon suggests.

“I… I can’t right now,” she says. “I’m sorry.”

Rickon’s face falls, but he nods. “Yeah, okay,” he says. “Later then…”

With a weak smile, Shireen leaves the car, rushing through the walk to the door of her building. Before entering, she glances back over, seeing that Rickon has idled over there, making sure that she gets inside safely.

\--

Shireen tries to put Rickon from her mind in the next couple weeks. She’s stopped wearing her bracelets, as now it is easy to look at the writing when she knows what it says. She focuses intently on her work, getting back on track from her many distractions. Her schedule is planning itself: she’s catching up on work, she can finish getting signatures for her petition on Wednesday, and she doesn’t have to worry about her soulmate never existing. With a fresh, organized mind, Shireen sets off for class, hoping for a good day. She’s shocked when she receives a text message from a number she doesn’t recognize.

_Hey._

That’s helpful. Shireen snorts, putting the phone back in her pocket. She can text them back later. Her phone buzzes again with another message. Frowning, she takes out her phone.

_It’s Rickon._

Now, she knows she’ll ignore it. She doesn’t have time to worry about her soulmate when she’s got a million other things to do. Other people might be content dating their soulmates forever, but she knows she’ll feel bad if she can’t commit to her relationship when she has to prepare for grad school. Phone set to silent, Shireen walks to her classes, going about her day as she’s planned. Her project with Bran has gone wonderfully, and they’ve finished now, so she doesn’t worry about having to go over to his house again.

After class that day, their professor announces that they’ll receive their projects back the next day. Shireen grins, happy that she’s ahead on her work and can get signatures a day early. She prepares herself, finally checking her phone. There are fourteen unread messages from Rickon.

_I stole your number from Bran._

_Sorry_

_He doesn’t know. Don’t tell him._

_How are you though?_

_I miss you._

_Is that weird?_

_Sorry_

_Can we be friends?_

_I’ll take you out to dinner._

_Lunch?_

_Breakfast?_

_Coffee?_

_Sorry, I’m probably annoying you._

_Just ignore me_

Shireen adds him to her contacts, but she doesn’t reply. There are things to do before she worries about him. There’s a feeling of warmth in her chest though, knowing that he’s eager to be with her in spite of her appearance, and she takes a new kind of comfort in that. Still, she has things to do, so she helps Bran away from the table and hurries off to finish up with her petition.

It’s a better day than she thought it would be, and people are actually approaching her today, which is extremely odd. She accepts their help, though, and only has a few signatures left. Though she should have expected it, Rickon approaches her.

“I, uh, didn’t fill out my slot properly last time,” he says. She can’t read the expression in his eyes, and she feels strange being in this situation. Handing over the clipboard, Shireen takes a step away and brushes her hair back. He fills out the papers in silence. “Sorry, I’m so clingy… I just didn’t think it would actually happen…”

“It’s okay,” Shireen tells him. She takes a deep breath. “I just need time before, you know…”

Rickon nods. “I get it.” He glances down to her exposed wrist and smiles. “When you’re ready, then.”

Shireen smiles back at him, watching him look around before walking off. She snaps herself out of it to finish the task at hand and manages it with a group of fraternity boys. They joke around with each other a lot, but Shireen is glad they’re filling it out properly.

“So you got a soulmate?” one of them asks, looking over at her.

Shireen considers silence, but she’s annoyed at the implication. “Yes,” she spits out.

The frat boys all snort. “Did he run tail after seeing your face?”

Swallowing hard, Shireen just holds her hand out for the clipboard. The boy holding it holds it just out of her reach.

“No, seriously. Because I think I would if you were mine.”

Shireen takes a step back, prepared to abandon her petition completely if this is the price to pay for it. She’s staring at the floor when she hears a scuffle coming from in front of her. Looking up, she sees Rickon squaring off with the boys. He snatches back her clipboard, holding it out to her before moving the frat boys away. One of them is being particularly difficult, though.

“Not even pretty,” he says. “So it’s not a waste.”

“Fuck off,” Rickon shoots back. He turns away from them, moving back toward her when one of them shouts again.

“Tattoos can cover that up, babe!”

Rickon turns, striding forward to land a punch directly onto his jaw. Shireen’s mouth hangs open. She is astounded that Rickon would dare do such a thing, particularly on her behalf. The boys scatter then, obviously not prepared for any sort of physical violence after heckling her. Furious as he is, Rickon returns to her side, gathering up her things and leading her away from the area. They’re heading toward her dorm, and Shireen stops him. Her heart is pounding, and she turns to face Rickon.

“So this is a thing, yeah?” she asks.

“What is?”

“You saving me,” she says.

Rickon gives a half-hearted shrug. “I mean… I can always just—”

“Kiss me.” Shireen’s staring straight at him. If he is her soulmate, then they’re going to work through thick or thin together, and they might as well start now. He’s still looking a little shocked, and Shireen just wants to know what it feels like to kiss someone who might actually grow to love her. “Rickon. Please.”

He nods, but he’s slow about it. He reaches up to hold her jaw, letting his hands brush over her scars. She wants to shy away from that alone, but his hands are so soft and his touch is so gentle. The pads of his fingers rub over them before he grabs her face entirely, staring directly into her eyes. Failing to breathe, Shireen just meets his gaze, almost ready to call him off. Because she doesn’t need this, she doesn’t need to be distracted by this boy for the rest of her life. Then, his mouth is on hers. The heat of him warms her, and she’s destroyed by the thought of him here. He has ruined her by this action, and she loves it. Breathing in as much as she can, Shireen presses up against him, trying to move closer. She opens her mouth to seek him out, and he seems thoroughly unprepared for it. He responds quickly enough, deepening the kiss, though he doesn’t overstep.

He’s close to her. He always will be. She has him. And they never have to let each other go. Shireen wraps her arms around him, pulling him closer. She hooks an arm up to grab his shoulder, realizing with some distant part of her brain that their names are now pressed together. She wants to touch it again, feel that it’s there, dig her hands under his shirt and be _there_ , but Rickon is pulling away.

There’s a smile on his face, and he licks his lips slowly. “So you think we can maybe get married?” he whispers.

Smiling back, Shireen tries to keep her stance. She knows that she was distant before, that he should never want her after what she put him through, but he’s still willing to joke about marrying her. She clears her throat. “Well, I don’t know about marriage, but I think I’ll take you up on that coffee.”

“One condition,” Rickon says firmly. It’s so sudden, and so unlike what she expects that she stumbles. He just grins at her. “I get to kiss you again.”

Even though Shireen feels like this is extremely unusual for anyone, soulmate or not, she agrees. All in all, if anyone had that terrible chicken scratch excuse for penmanship, she’s glad that it’s Rickon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might write more of this. I haven't decided yet.


	2. Chapter 2

At Shireen's request, Rickon starts out their relationship by just being friends with her. While he fully believes that they’ll find themselves in love and married one day, she isn’t quite so confident. Rickon listens to her, letting her set the parameters of their relationship. She is extremely busy with school work, and Rickon respects that she won't give it up for him. However, he finds himself longing to spend all of his free time with her. He often mopes around the house, trying to find ways to keep himself busy. While she does other things, Rickon contents himself with just texting her, wondering when he should tell his family that he has finally met his soulmate. He feels like he’s found his missing puzzle piece, and now he was just waiting for her to put it in place. He was the last of his siblings to finally meet their soulmate, and he was worried that everything would find a way to go wrong. 

Things usually happened like that for him. Even when he intentionally tries to avoid other people, he always ends up in trouble. There is still some distant part of his brain that tells him that Shireen doesn't like him—can’t like him—because he couldn't keep his mouth shut about her scars. He still hates that it happened, and he hates that he's still curious about them.

She did consent to let him touch them, though, mostly because he wouldn’t stop staring. After their first kiss, Rickon quickly discovers how much he enjoys having his hands on her. She’s soft and warm under his fingers, and he desperately wants to map her out with his hands. He tries to keep his hands to himself, though, knowing that he can't force a relationship there, but he takes every opportunity she allows him to press his fingers against her scars and feel the textures there.

"It's kinda like we're in kindergarten," Rickon tells her one day. They're eating lunch together at a restaurant in town, and Shireen glances up at him in between bites of her salad. She glances at him before staring back down at her food. Rickon clears his throat, rubbing his hands together and hoping he doesn’t just sound crazy. "Like... we just decided that we're going to be friends, so now we are. It's easy."

"Does it feel forced to you?" Shireen asks back. She swallows and fixes him with a stare. "Don't you feel like someone's just pulling your strings and making you do all this? Like you don't have a choice in it?"

Rickon looks over to her, narrowing his eyes slightly. The low lights of the restaurant make her skin look delightfully flushed. His eyes flick over to her scars. He knows that she's talking about them, however indirectly. Some part of her must still think that he'll leave her just because of her face. "No," he says finally. "This is fully, one hundred percent my decision. I mean, as a child I hated that I had a soulmate whose name I couldn't read. Who writes in cursive anymore, anyway?"

Shireen blushes prettily and bows her head, as if she’s hiding from him. "I really like the way it looks," she mutters.

The smile is on his face before he knows it. It's just like her, this way he's come to know her. She's neat and tidy and kind and sweet. While Rickon had spent a good portion of his life hoping for a soulmate who would be feisty and fierce, he's surprised at how lovely sweetness can taste. Rickon grabs his drink, taking his time to swallow. “Sorry about my writing,” he says back, making a face. “I mean… it’s…”

Shaking her head, Shireen pushes the last few leaves of her salad around her plate. “It’s not that bad,” she mutters. Rickon watches her hands tap against her fork in some unknown rhythm before she looks out a window. “I mean, it was annoying, but I just pretended that it didn’t exist.”

Rickon feels her words like a stab through his heart. He had been hoping that she would have had some sort of joy with his name there, but he expects this is largely because of how they had opposite problems. They both couldn’t read each other’s names: Rickon, because of tidiness and Shireen, because of sloppiness. Honestly, a part of him thinks that they still shouldn’t work out, that they are so different from each other that trying to build anything on this shaky foundation is asking for destruction. Shireen doesn’t seem to find anything wrong with her words, though. She keeps her eyes downcast and slowly finishes her meal.

Trying to break the silence and forget what she said Rickon picks at a topic of conversation. “So how’s your petition going?”

At the mention of it, Shireen lights up. “I just submitted it for formal review,” she tells him. She gives him a warm, reassuring smile, and Rickon can tell just how much it means to her. “Hopefully, it’ll be enough to actually make something happen.”

“Why did you want to make a petition anyway?” he asks, happy to see her so excited about something and hoping to keep her talking.

Shireen sits back in her seat, giving him an appraising look. Her eyes travel all over his face, as if she’s trying to figure out what he means. “I want to know that I did something that matters,” she says. “I mean… I thought that I couldn’t matter, but maybe I could make something that’s worth more than me.”

“Not possible,” Rickon says before he can stop himself. Shireen raises her eyebrows at him questioningly. She looks ready to shoot more words at him and prove herself right, so Rickon cuts her off. “You’re worth more than that. More than anything.”

He looks away before he can see her reaction, unsure of whether he wants to know what she thinks of him. Ever since they met a month ago, things have been rocky between them. Rickon was eager to know her and date her and be with her, but Shireen wants to take things slowly and find out whether they should be together before they do anything. Dating her has been difficult with her attitude about it, and he feels like he’s become the subject of her research with the way she regards him. 

“Thank you,” Shireen mumbles out. “I know you don’t have to date me. People don’t really date nowadays, do they?”

“My parents did,” Rickon tells her. He remembers the talk all his siblings must have heard a million times, especially since his parents just assumed they didn’t have soulmates were they were young. “They both got theirs really late… My mom was in grad school at the time, and she was dating my uncle because neither of them had a name. It wasn’t until after she met my dad that his name appeared for her,” he laughed, “They had a lot of fun explaining that to my uncle.”

Shireen gives him a weak smile. “That must have been hard for them.”

“They always say that it was just meant to be.” Rickon shrugs. “They really love each other.”

Shireen lapses into silence, staring down at her hands. He can see them moving, and he wishes he could take them in his and give her some words of comfort. Tearing his gaze away from her, Rickon hails their waiter and pays for the meal. Extremely belatedly, Shireen offers to pay, but he waves her off.

“It’s no problem,” he tells her, getting up from his seat. Pulling on his jacket, he offers her a hand that she takes tentatively, the tips of her fingers lightly pressing against his palm. Her hands are soft against his, and he wants to latch onto her. Unfortunately, she lets go right away, clasping her hands together. He sighs, but resigns himself to walking at her side.

They leave the restaurant together into the cold. Winter has steadily crept upon them. It has yet to snow, but the chill is omnipresent around them. Rickon glances over to Shireen, seeing her zip up her jacket and hold her arms together. Taking his scarf off, he places it over her shoulders. Shireen looks up at him, her eyes big and bright. She slowly reaches for the scarf, wrapping it around her neck. Then, she takes his arm, leaning into him and simultaneously stopping him from putting an arm around her. They walk slowly together, heading back to her dorm before he goes home. It’s comfortable despite the silence. No one else is out in the cold, and Rickon feels as if he’s been thrown into a world where only they exist together.

“Do you love me?” Shireen asks. It’s sudden, and there’s nothing that could have prepared him for this inquiry.

He stops in his tracks and she only takes a step more before following suit. Her arm drops from his, and she curls in on herself slightly. He wants to tell her he does, that he’s fallen deeper than he ever expected, that he’s lost in the abyss of her and he never wants to get out. Rickon feels the truth of that resonating in his chest, but he knows that it’s a more of an echo. It’s the sound of what comes later, after this has had the chance to build. He closes his eyes, thinking of how to tell her this: that he knows he will love her more than anything if only they persist through this now. Rickon feels like she’s just handed him a live bomb, and he carefully thinks through his next course of action.

“You’re my soulmate,” he says evenly. He wants to find even ground that she can relate to. More so, he wants to discover if she also feels the same way. He takes a deep breath, letting the crisp air fill his lungs. Then, he opens his eyes. She hasn’t moved, is still frozen on the sidewalk and hunched over. “I can feel everything building between us, and regardless of having your name on me, I’m attracted to you. I want to stay close to you and keep you happy.” 

He takes the step toward her now, placing a hand on her shoulder. At his touch, she turns into him. The blue of her eyes swims with tears that have yet to fall, and he wants to hold her but not before he finishes.

“I want to become the reason why you smile,” he tells her. “I don’t want to feel like I don’t deserve you, so I’ll do whatever I can to make it so you want me, too. Even if you want me to just take you out on dates or be your friend.”

Shireen sniffs, covering her face with her hands and shaking her head. “But you don’t love me?”

Rickon forces himself to smile at her. “Do you love me?” he asks back.

She shakes her head more, and a laugh bubbles out of her. “I’ve only known you for six weeks,” she says. She looks out from behind her hands and smiles at him. “How could I?”

“Exactly,” Rickon tells her. He’s beyond relieved. They’ve both been thrown into the deep end of this pool, and they need to learn how to swim together. “We just need more time.”

“Okay,” Shireen agrees. She steps into him, and he wants to reach for her. He wants to touch her and pull her closer. He wants to put his mouth on her and feel the fire of their last kiss reignite in his stomach and threaten to burn him down. For a moment, he thinks that she’ll do it. He thinks that she’ll kiss him without preamble and be just as bent on tearing him down as he is to succumb to her. 

While Rickon is still lost in his thoughts, she steps into him, wrapping her arms around his waist and holding him tight. Shireen tips up on her toes and presses a small kiss to his throat. Fleeting as it is, Rickon still feels the weight of it in him. Maybe she won’t destroy him, but maybe he loves her more than he knows. He should stop guessing altogether and let himself enjoy what he has of her. He returns the hug, prepared to hold her until the world ends, but she releases him to take his hand. Entwining their fingers together, Rickon walks with her, glad that he can be with her like this and watch it grow.

As they near her building, her phone chimes. Without letting go of his hand, Shireen stretches her other arm to retrieve it, reading through the message. She smiles, sliding it back into her pocket.

“Good news?” he asks.

“I get the results of my petition tomorrow,” she tells him. “They want me to go into the office for it.”

“That’s exciting,” Rickon says. He’s warmed by her smile, and it fills him with other thoughts of comfort. He thinks of cold winter nights by the fire and sipping hot cocoa.

Shireen’s smile widens, and she gives him another hug. “Can I see you tomorrow then?” she asks.

“You can see me whenever you want,” he responds. “Modern technology,” he adds on quickly, hoping that he didn’t seem too love-struck to manage himself.

Laughing, Shireen hugs him again, her hand sliding to his shoulder where her name is on his skin. He tugs her tight against his body, knows that he’ll be sad to see her go. When she finally lets go, he drags his hands over her arms, down until their fingers hook together before she steps away. She doesn’t stop smiling, though, giving him a small wave before disappearing for the time being.

When Rickon finds Shireen the next day, she’s tucked away in a small corner of the school, writing furiously across her notebook as fast as she can. Occasionally, she pulls out her phone, but she goes back to writing quickly. Shireen doesn’t even look up as he approaches her, consumed as she is by whatever she is writing. Her brow furrows in concentration, and Rickon wonders what she’s doing. He takes a seat next to her, waiting for a lull in her scribbling to make his presence known.

It’s a full five minutes later that she sets down her notebook and sighs. Rickon clears his throat gently. Shireen jumps at the noise, but she settles when she sees him.

“Hi,” she says, somewhat dismissively. She pulls her notebook up and underlines a few lines of her writing. “Sorry, I just got really busy.”

“Doing what?” Rickon asks. “Or is it so busy that I should just leave?”

Shireen shakes her head, staring down hard at the writing in front of her. Glancing over, Rickon thinks it’s the sloppiest her penmanship has ever been, and he can barely make out what it says. She heaves out another heavy sigh and looks over to him. Rickon notices that she’s close to crying again, and he moves to hold her. He stops himself, though, waiting for her small nod before he pulls her into his lap.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he says softly. He cradles her head to his shoulder, rocking back slightly so she can lean onto him. “Just tell me what it is, and I can help you.”

“I—you can’t,” she breathes out. Her voice is shaky, and he hopes that he can help because seeing her like this hurts deep in his gut. A minute passes before she sits up on her own, wiping at her eyes and trying to meet his gaze. “Sorry, I just… I have to go to a hearing and appeal a case because I might be expelled.”

“For what?” Rickon asks immediately. From all he’s known of her, it was definitely the last thing that she’d ever be put in.

Shireen shakes her head, scooting off his lap and grabbing her notebook. “My stupid petition,” she mumbles. “Apparently, I’m plagiarizing my own work now…”

“Wait, what?” Rickon asks again, uncertain how any of this could happen.

“Someone wanted to help me,” she says, slowing down. “At least, that’s what they said, but apparently, they were faster than me in submitting the petition and now the university thinks I’ve copied it from them.”

“Can’t you just show them the original?” Rickon asks. “I mean, the electronic copies have time stamps.”

Shireen sighs, packing up her bags. She looks completely shaken and wrung out. Rickon wants to wrap her in his arms and keep her tucked away until everything passes over, but she’s shaking her head and he can see her independence shining through. “No, the whole process is too strict about evidence and I can’t really bring anything in, so I need to go look for sources to back up my case now,” she says.

“Shireen, you have finals in a week,” Rickon tells her as gently as he can. He doesn’t want to worry her further, but he also wants her to do well. Already, he’s considering asking his dad for help. “You’re going to need to study. Let me do this for you. I can—”

“It’s not your problem, Rickon,” Shireen says. She shakes her head again, as if scolding herself for something. “You didn’t do this. I’ll figure it out.”

With that, she hurries off to the library, leaving Rickon to watch her go. He wants to jump into action, knows that his dad is high enough in the university to help her. Heading home, Rickon thinks about telling his dad. He needs to find a way to bring up the fact that he found his soulmate and brush past that to get help for her. Wracking his brain to form a plan, Rickon half-heartedly goes through his own schoolwork while trying to figure out how to talk to his dad about this. He decides to ask him about it after dinner, thinking that at least he won’t have to tell his mom right away.

His dad beats him to it. Ned Stark has been largely influential to the on-goings on Winterfell University for years now, and he is apparently on top of all the potential expulsions of the campus. However, Rickon completely forgets that his family doesn’t know he’s been spending time with Shireen, so he’s confused when his dad directs the question to Bran instead.

“How’s your friend Shireen doing?” Ned asks, giving his son a hard look.

Bran shrugs, not looking up from his food. “Fine, I guess,” he replies. “She helps me get in and out of my spot sometimes, but we don’t really talk much now that the midterm project is done. Why?”

“I was wondering if perhaps she’s changed lately,” Ned says evenly. “Some of the faculty have been discussing her.”

Rickon shoves his mouth full of food to stop himself from talking. Bran just shakes his head and looks around a bit. “No, she’s just like she always was,” he says.

“She was working on a petition,” Rickon reminds him, trying to sound offhand about it. Before his brother can ask, he says, “I remember signing it a few weeks ago.”

“Weeks?” Ned asks. “You’re certain?”

“Yeah,” Rickon says. “It was right when they were doing their project.”

Bran gives Rickon a strange look, but Rickon ignores it. His father takes a few more bites in silence, chewing slowly. Rickon feel tension in the air that exists only for him. He waits out the time until his dad’s next move. “Invite her to dinner,” Ned tells Bran. “Tomorrow, if she’ll accept. I’d like to discuss this petition with her.”

Rickon frowns, watching as Bran agrees. Surely, she’d be annoyed by the invitation when she has so much going on now. He worries about Shireen too much to think straight, hoping that she’s calm enough to deal with this. Just before bed, he gets a text from her.

_Your brother asked me out._

Rickon scoffs, typing back, _Sorry to disappoint you, but you’re not his type_

_I’m too busy to go. Why is he asking me, though?_

Sighing, Rickon falls onto his bed, calling her. He hopes that he can convince her to come, not just to see her, but to help her. When the line rings a few times, Rickon feels his heart sink. She can’t have gotten that far from her phone. She answers just before it rings out. “Hey.”

“Come for dinner,” Rickon says. “I’ll pick you up and drive you back. It won’t waste your time. You need to eat anyway.”

“Rickon, there’s too much to do,” Shireen says. “I have to go in on Monday.”

“My dad wants to help,” Rickon tells her. “Or, I think he does. He’s not allowed to give out details like that. But it was his idea.”

“Oh,” Shireen mumbles. He can hear her fumbling through papers and dropping something. He waits, though. “Have you told them about us?”

“I think now’s a bad time for that,” Rickon says. “Besides, you haven’t even agreed to be my girlfriend.”

“Doesn’t ‘soulmate’ cover that title?”

“Not when I’m trying to court you.” Rickon smirks, knowing that she’s probably rolling her eyes at him.

Shireen sighs. “Fine, I’ll go to dinner with you.”

“With me?” Rickon teases.

“Shut up,” Shireen shoots back. “You better pick me up on time.”

Rickon does. Bran accompanies him, though, thinking it weird to ask Rickon to do it alone. The car ride is a jump between many conversations, and Rickon stops talking completely because he’s afraid of slipping up and making this dinner more awkward than it’s already going to be. Bran and Shireen talk about their class, going over various things that might be on their final. When they get back to the house, Rickon helps Bran, but he notices Shireen hovering at his shoulder. He feels like a child hiding a schoolyard crush from his parents as he avoids Shireen to give Bran mobility again. Bran wheels himself through the house, going to announce their arrival.

“You’re wearing my scarf,” Rickon points out, turning back to Shireen.

“Oh.” She pulls it off quickly. “I suppose I shouldn’t have it.”

She looks nervous and jumpy as she holds it out to him, and Rickon wishes he could do something to calm her nerves, but he isn’t sure what to do when they were still walking on thin ice. Breathing out a sigh, Shireen walks past him, following Bran to the kitchen and leaving Rickon in the entryway. He stands there for a minute, thinking that he should just admit to everyone that he loves her because they’ll all find out soon enough. It’d be sudden, but it might also stop his heart from jumping out of his chest every time he sees her. She’s definitely wearing a sweater, though, hiding his name from his family that’s sure to recognize it.

Walking into the kitchen, Rickon notices that Shireen is standing off in a corner by herself, talking to his mother. Trying not to be too obvious, Rickon puts himself a good distance away from her. “Do you want something to drink?” he asks.

Shireen opens her mouth quickly, but she shuts it. She wants water, he knows. She always has water when they go out, but saying that would be too telling now. Instead, she swallows and says, “Just water, please.”

Rickon smiles at her, hoping to calm her down. Crossing the kitchen, Rickon serves her a glass of water, locating a straw for her before she can ask for it. He even bends it for her, knowing her habit of playing with bendy straws too much when they aren’t already angled.

“Thank you,” she mumbles, taking a sip.

“Do you want to sit down?” he asks, gesturing to the table. Bran and his dad are nowhere to be found, and his mom has already begun serving plates with her back to them. Shireen glances around and seems to realize this, too. Her lower lip quivers slightly. Before he can stop himself, Rickon snatches her left hand and quickly kisses the inside of her wrist. “You’re okay,” he tells her softly, smoothing her sweater back down. “Everything’s fine.”

Shireen nods back at him, taking a seat at the table when Bran rolls back in with their father right behind him. Standing up again, Shireen reaches out to shake his hand, and Rickon goes to the kitchen, grabbing plates and taking them to the table. He makes sure to sit on her left, hoping that it’ll provide her some sort of comfort, and it seems to work when Ned starts asking her questions about the petition. Shireen answers politely, giving as much detail as she can about everything he asks. Bran almost ignores them entirely, simply eating his food, and Rickon is almost as tense as Shireen is, waiting for the proverbial drop when something goes horribly wrong. He underestimates his father, though, and it doesn’t come. Dinner almost passes smoothly until Ned asks for a private word with her in his office after they finish dinner. Shireen agrees, though her hand is shaking slightly when she reaches for her fork. Reaching under the table and, more importantly, out of sight of his family, Rickon finds her hand, taking it gently. Her hand squeezes back, and he feels his fingers start to ache a bit, but she doesn’t release him until she follows Ned into his office.

Then, Rickon lingers around as much as he can, wanting to eavesdrop but not wanting to invade privacy. He helps his mom in the kitchen, keeping as close as he can to Shireen, however far she may be. They finish faster, though, and Rickon runs out of reasons to wait around. He simply paces the floor, waiting for the sound of the door opening. When it does, Rickon has to choke down the urge to run to her immediately.

“Thank you, Mr. Stark,” Shireen says. Rickon can’t quite read her tone, and he’s extremely worried about what happened.

“I’ll have my son drive you back,” Ned says. Rickon knows that he can appear now, so he shoves his hands in his pockets and walks down the hallway as casually as he can, waiting for his dad to stop him. “Rickon! Could you please drive Miss Baratheon back to school?”

“Yeah, sure,” Rickon says, catching the small smile Shireen gives him. They slowly head to the door, and Shireen starts pulling on her jacket, breathing out a heavy sigh. “How’d it go?” he asks.

“Your dad’s going to argue my case for me,” Shireen tells him, turning to face him in the entryway. “He’s really nice.”

Rickon nods in agreement, handing his scarf back to her. She takes it with a smile and wraps in around her neck as if it only ever belonged to her. He doesn’t know where to go from here, how to keep talking to her when she’s obviously thinking of other things. They drive back to school in silence, though Shireen leans onto the armrest, and he hopes it’s to be closer to him. She doesn’t let on or give anything away, though, and Rickon knows that she’s still lost in herself. He parks in the turnaround to her dorm, waiting to see what she wants him to do.

“So my last final is on Wednesday,” she tells him. “I’ll probably be really busy before then, but…”

“Do you want to come over on Wednesday?” Rickon offers before his courage has a chance to fade. “We can just hang out, and it’ll probably be snowing then, so you might not want to go outside, but we can watch a movie or something.”

Shireen giggles, making him catch his self. He really wants to please her and spend time with her, especially in a time when she isn’t stressed. Rickon wants to learn about more sides of her. A smile slowly grows on her face. “I’d love to,” she says. “But I really need to go study.”

“Okay,” Rickon says. “Good luck.”

He watches her go now, free from one of her worries. In time, he hopes that he can take more of them away, leaving her happy and content. For now, all he can do is hope that the next two weeks pass calmly before he sees her again.

 

 

"You can touch me, you know," Rickon says. As confident as he likes to be around Shireen, he still worries about messing up their relationship. He’s willing to invite her in and flirt with her, but he has his own reservations about everything. As it is, his arms are thrown up over his head because he refuses to touch her without permission, because he refuses to overstep and break whatever fragile thing is building between them. Still, they have somehow found themselves lying together on the couch. Shireen is tucked into the bend, threatening to fall into the small crevice there where quarters go to die, and Rickon is teetering on the edge, about to fall by the wayside. He keeps himself there, though, knowing that any shift in his attention means that he'll end up further from her or perhaps close enough to shatter the barrier between them. Rickon wants to. He _knows_ that he wants to. He wants to fall into her and be with her, because she's everything he could have asked for while being nothing that he thought he wanted. It's a thought that has continuously amazed and terrified him. Nothing has ever been so precious in his life.

Shireen is still not meeting his gaze. She's staring down at his chest with her arms tucked in front of her. Had she relaxed her arms, they'd be leaning against his chest. Rickon tries not to think of that. Instead, he tries to think of how she's intentionally keeping herself away despite being here, and he wonders what that means when all this is still so new when it's been months.

With a glance up at him, Rickon realizes that he is never prepared for her. The dark blue of her eyes pierces through him, and he feels as if he's been stunned, as if he's under a spell set by this enchantress who lies mere inches away. Perhaps he is prisoner in his own home. She blinks, her eyelashes shifting slowly, and he loses himself staring at the long, thick black of them. "Isn't it weird, though?" she finally asks.

Rickon is tempted to flat out tell her no, that this is normal and natural. In truth, he doesn't know what soulmates do when they meet. No one ever deigns that to be relevant information when telling you the meaning of what's written on your skin. He can see that it pulls at Shireen more than him, and he wonders if this doesn't feel as natural to her as it does to him. "You're going to have to be a little more specific," Rickon replies instead, hoping that he can appeal to her logical side.

"Isn't this just... forced intimacy?" she asks softly. Her face reddens a bit, and Rickon is tempted to touch it.

He loves the feel of it, the feel of her, but he holds himself back for her sake. For their sake. Clearing his throat gently, he says, "I did ask if it would be okay... Although, I can leave if you'd like."

"No, I just..." Shireen sighs. The tension seems to completely roll out of her, and her hands are the lightest of touches against his chest. She inclines her head, hiding her face from him. "I thought it wasn't supposed to happen for me. I thought you were supposed to have someone else."

Just the idea of that upsets Rickon's stomach and he feels ill at the thought. Once upon a time, he thought that soulmates were mere suggestions and he attempted dating, but people with soulmate tattoos weren't fun to date, and people without were rarer still. He frowns; half-wishing he had the space to roll onto his back, thinking that he should have asked her to his bed instead of the couch. Clasping his hands together, Rickon bends his arms down to squeeze his head slightly. "It can't be," he says softly. "No one else could deal with me... I can't be with anyone else."

Slowly, Shireen's fists stretch out, her hands spanning his ribs. Rickon can feel her fingers trembling slightly, but he ignores it, focusing instead on the fact that her hands are made of fire and he's burning up under her touch. The exploration her hands take is a slow one, moving up his chest just slightly until they drift back down, one sloping up for his waist and settling on his hip.

Shireen is still staring at her hands when she says, "I guess you can touch me, too."

"Do you want me to?" he asks automatically. After years over his brothers and their friends hounding on him for being too aggressive, it's second nature to ask now when his boyhood self would have taken any invitation.

The quiet stretches out longer than he'd like, but he distracts himself with the fact that her fingers are making miniscule patterns over the waistline of his jeans and he has the small tug of his shirt every time her fingers change direction. She purses her lips just slightly. "I don't know," she breathes out, and she looks scared when he gets to see her eyes again. It's the same fear that she always shows: like she thinks he'll leave her, that he's just pretending to be interested, like he doesn't actually have her name tattooed onto his skin.

"Why not?" Rickon asks. He's being as gentle as he can, knowing that he'd have usually snapped by now or at the very least tried to kiss her again. It's been months since their first kiss, and, even though she agreed to kiss him again, she was very particular about pointing out that she didn't say when. Now, he's just hoping she'll ask him again.

Shireen shudders out a shaky breath. "Because my parents weren't perfect matches," she admits. Her voice is just above a whisper. "My dad didn't have my mom as his soulmate... He just assumed that he'd never meet his, so he married her, and I thought that mine wouldn't be perfect either..."

Knowing beyond a doubt that it'd be natural now, Rickon reaches out to her, stroking her hair with steady, smooth motions. "It's still a relationship, Shireen. We still have to try and put forth the effort. It isn't just magic," he tells her. He knows because of his siblings that it's true that, even with a soulmate, his eldest brother almost ruined his relationship. "Wanting it isn't enough, for either of us. We have to do something about it if we want it to work."

The blue of her eyes meets his again. This time, she appears to be looking straight through him, trying to discern some hidden meaning in what he just said. Rickon hopes that he was clear enough, that she knows he means to try for her, to win her over good and proper since that's what she wants from him and he knows it. Rickon wants her to be happy with her choice, and he desperately wants to be her choice.

"Will you hold me?" Shireen mumbles out, her face still flushed. She ducks down slightly, but her hand is even firmer on his hip, though it is completely steady now. She quickly adds on an, "I'm tired" as if it could help sway him one way or another.

Carefully, Rickon brings his arms down. He tucks one under her head, not knowing where else it'd fit with their bodies so close, and Shireen moves her hands away from him. He feels the loss of her when she pulls her hair away from the looming tangles under her neck. Then, she settles onto his bicep, her hand returning to his waist as she squirms slightly in place, beckoning him closer. Rickon complies, shifting from his spot to one of safety, a position where he can relax with the feel of her body against his. He lets his other arm rest in the dip of her waist, hooking his hand up to continue toying with her hair. Shireen lets out a contented sigh, and he feels it on his collarbone as surely as he feels it filling his system with euphoria. For all that had just happened, she might as well have fed him the world's strongest love potion because there was no force in the world that could move him from this place on the couch, especially not when she bends her knee up to rest over his.

Rickon leans his head down into hers, not wanting to kiss her just yet, but he is rewarded with the scent of her: strawberries and vanilla that makes him yearn for more and want to pull her more securely against his chest. He wants the feel of her everywhere, and he fully recognizes that he is a man lost to a cause when this woman can do nothing and he'd quest for the world's greatest riches if only to win her heart. As he listens to her drift off, Rickon thinks it impossible that he'd ever live his life without her. A distant part of his brain wonders if he ever was, really, before he met her.

Shireen sleeps peacefully, like a kitten in his arms, and though Rickon is tempted to play guard dog and watch over her, he allows himself to drift off beside her. As he sinks into his sleep, he briefly wonders if he’ll be able to keep his hands off her when he’s unconscious. That thought slips away along with many others, leaving the lull of her breathing and the warmth of her body to fuel his dreams.

He feels the lull of her as if he is at sea, rocking to and fro on currents that take him nowhere. The great expanse of the ocean was once frightening and all-consuming, but now that he has Shireen, she steers them to safety and warmth and _home_.

Rickon doesn’t remember much from his nap, not the dreams or moving or waking. He knows that his body tried to keep him awake, his eyes flicking open every few minutes for no purpose other than to remind him that she was there. Every time, he simply assesses where his hands are before he drifts off again. There is a small part of him that thinks he remembers someone finding them sprawled out next to each other on the couch, and though Shireen says she doesn’t mind, he can’t help but feel like he’s breaking some household rule. It isn’t until someone loudly clears their throat above him that his eyes open, blinking in the bright light.

His brother is leaning over the back of the couch with a knowing smile on his face. Rickon is tempted to smack the look off his face, but the smallest movement lets him know that Shireen has somehow managed to end up completely on top of him during their nap. Moving his arms as slowly as possible, Rickon holds her in place as he sits up a bit. Shireen squirms against him, resting her head onto his left shoulder and moving her hand up to rest on his other arm. Bran raises his eyebrows in question.

Groaning, Rickon shoos Bran away. “I’m sleeping,” he mumbles, tucking his chin down to catch the smell of her hair again.

“Just because she hasn’t found her soulmate yet doesn’t mean you should mess with her,” Bran tells him. He sits back in his chair and wheels himself around to Rickon’s head. “I mean, whether or not you have one, it isn’t fair to her.”

Sighing, Rickon considers showing Bran his shoulder. However, jostling Shireen isn’t worth giving his brother that peace of mind, so he just turns into her slightly. “Just let me sleep.”

It would be easy to show him Shireen’s wrist, especially as it’s still gently placed over his arm. He feels the pressure of it, the six letters of his name carrying more weight in her life than they ever did in his. Her breathing is still deep, though, and Rickon refuses to wake her when she rests so easily with him as her pillow.

With a heavy sigh, Bran rolls out of the room, and Rickon turns his attentions back to Shireen, easing his fingers through her hair as lightly as he can. He thinks of how she must have contributed to their current position. He can’t have lifted her in his unconscious state, and he wonders how she’ll feel about it when she finally wakes.

Sometime later, she comes to, blinking slowly and pressing against his chest to figure out where she is. Rickon feels a low pull deep in his stomach, nerves roiling around like birds trying to take flight. After a moment, she tucks an arm under her chin and looks at him, and a smile grows on her face, as soft as early morning light. She stretches out her other hand and runs her fingers through his hair. Glancing sideways, he sees the black scribbles of his name on her wrist, and he grins.

“Did you sleep well?” he asks. He’s still cautious about being so close to her, even though neither of them remembers it happening. Sleepily, Shireen nods. Rickon can feel her body tightening and pressing against his. She slowly wiggles her way up his body, and Rickon feels the soft press of her breasts as she settles higher on his body. Placing a hand on her waist, Rickon holds her firmly to him. To his surprise, Shireen doesn’t pull away for another minute.

She slowly starts sitting up, rolling off of his legs to free him. Rickon takes the invitation to move away from her, sliding his legs off the couch to give her more room. Leaning sideways onto the cushions, Shireen tucks her legs under her body and gives him a firm look. Rickon is under the distinct impression that he is being analyzed again, that she is assessing him for some larger test he isn’t aware of; but a soft smile plays at the corners of her mouth when she reaches out to take his hand.

“So Christmas is coming up,” she mutters. Rickon furrows his brow, unsure where this conversation is going. “Relax,” she tells him. “I just want you to know that you don’t have to get me anything. Although, I don’t think I’d mind a boyfriend.”

His heart stops. His brain had already been working through a witty response to her previous statement, but he has no idea what a proper response is to this. Rickon wants to eagerly accept, to show her around as his girlfriend and soulmate finally after weeks of the back and forth they’ve been in. The feeling is threatening to drown him, and it takes a moment for him to settle his nerves. “What if I was your boyfriend?” he asks softly.

Shireen giggles, her hand a light squeeze over his. “I meant you, silly,” she says. “If you want to.”

Nodding, Rickon bites his lip. “Yeah, I’d like that,” he mumbles. He’s having a hard time keeping himself calm, and he wants to hug her close.

Smiling, Shireen sits up slightly, leaning over to kiss his cheek. Rickon wants to turn into her, wants his mouth on hers, but he waits for something to indicate that she’d like the same from him. Her hand rests gently on his jaw, turning him to face her fully. Butterflies are swarming his stomach as he looks over her face. Shireen’s dark hair makes her skin seem paler than it is and amplifies just how blue her eyes are. The pink of her lips is inviting, though he has no right to think of it. But her tongue darts out to wet her lips and he can’t stop staring.

“Touch me,” she whispers. When Rickon glances up, he sees her eyes completely lidded with her dark eyelashes, and he realizes with a jolt that she’s staring at his mouth, too. Licking his lips slowly, he slides a hand up her hip, letting himself stray no further than her waist. She sighs under his touch, and Rickon thinks that she finally understands the meaning of this now. The impact of having a soulmate has finally hit her, and she’s relishing in the newness of it all. Gently as he can, Rickon lifts a hand to brush over her scars, the pad of his thumb catching slightly on the ridges and bumps there. Her eyes jump to his, and Rickon feels like he’s being shocked by the intensity of her stare.

She softens some, inclining her head toward his. With ease now, he reciprocates the movement, and they fit together as perfectly as they did the first time. Their lips meet with care and softness, though their bodies respond with a greater force. Shireen’s whole body rolls into his, and Rickon turns into her, finding any leverage he can to keep her near. One of his hands presses up between her shoulder blades and the other is across her hips, keeping her locked against him. He can feel fire roaring up in him again, and even though he prefers the cold, he’ll gladly melt away with her lighting the match. She’s a constant pressure against him now, no longer subdued by the caution of first meetings and rocky waters. Rickon knows that she’s likely bent on destroying him in this singular moment because he will be dead by her hand. 

Some small noise dies in the back of his throat when her tongue slides into his mouth, licking over his before retreating. He follows her back, deepening their kiss. He pulls away gently, dipping her over his arm to get at her neck, kissing over her throat before finally feeling her scars under his lips. Shireen’s hands dig into his hair, pulling through it until he finds her mouth again, trying to calm himself down.

Her breath comes hard against him, and their chests press together every other second. Shireen’s arms rest lightly over his shoulders, and she hugs him close, laughing lightly.

“What’s so funny?” he asks, loosening his grip to get a better look at her.

She’s flushed a pretty shade of pink from the heat of their activity, and Rickon wants to feel it again. He wants to press his mouth onto her skin and draw out all the details with his tongue. Shireen hums absently, drawing him back. He focuses on the weight of her in his arms, how she fills the space perfectly and leans against him for support. Shireen presses into him further to release her own legs, sitting onto his lap and looking up at him. She brushes a lock of hair behind her ear and reaches back for his shoulder. Her fingers lightly trace over the exact spot where her name is on his skin, and he wonders how she’s memorized its position already.

“So we _might_ have to tell your family about this,” she says, her eyes shifting to the side. She has a sheepish smile on her face, and Rickon thinks that she’s hiding something.

“Why’s that?” he asks.

“Because Bran is looking at me like I’m insane,” she replies. Her voice is just above a whisper, but Rickon knows exactly what the issue is.

He leans down to whisper in her ear. “Then why don’t you show him?” He presses kisses to her neck, and feels the tug of his collar as she pulls it down to expose her name written in perfect script.


End file.
